How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 874

Esmeralda’s father was shocked.

Then, anger took its place. “Esmeralda! Just look at yourself. Are you really throwing another tantrum? Do you think this is some kind of child’s play?”

A heavy, unspeakable sense of injustice welled up in Esmeralda’s chest.

Why was it that both Fleming and even her own father only ever saw her as reckless and impossible to reason with?

Why did they always think she was just making a scene?

“I’m serious!” she insisted.

Her father’s patience finally snapped, and he pushed himself to his feet. “You’ve been spoiled long enough! Fleming is a wonderful man. How long do you intend to act like a petulant child? Do you even understand why our families are rushing all this? It’s not just about you—it’s about the business. Our partnership needs to go deeper, and marriage is the most secure bond!”

He wouldn’t indulge her moodiness for even a moment longer.

Without another word, he disappeared upstairs, convinced—like always—that sooner or later, Esmeralda would blow off steam and forget all about it.

No need to fuss.

Esmeralda felt as if something were lodged in her throat.

Why was it that every time she tried to express herself, no one seemed to take her seriously? She was an adult, perfectly capable of being accountable for her own decisions—wasn’t she?

But that didn’t matter now. Nothing was resolved. All she could do was tell herself to calm down; there had to be another way.

Still, she couldn’t shake the sadness creeping in at the edges.

She tried to work up the courage to call Elodie Thorne, but it was so late. Elodie would only worry.

Then she thought about calling Alexander Sterling, but she couldn’t bear the thought of giving him more reasons to tease her for being so helpless.

Head bowed, Esmeralda scuffed the carpet with her toe.

She sniffed and muttered to herself, “It’s nothing. Everything works out in the end.” As shaky as it sounded, that was the best comfort she had.

She slept fitfully and, by the time morning sunlight spilled across her bedroom, it was already nearly ten.

Esmeralda dragged herself from bed just in time to hear her phone buzzing: her mother.

But as soon as she stepped inside, she knew something was off.

Worse—her mother was nowhere to be found. Instead, at the far end of the shop stood Fleming. And beside him, her smile soft but unmistakably present, was Lucy.

When Lucy glanced up to say something to Fleming, her eyes crinkled, her smile bright yet subtle with a natural allure. It was impossible not to be drawn to her.

Esmeralda knew exactly how she stacked up beside Lucy—and felt the sting of it, sharp and immediate. Who wouldn’t prefer someone like Lucy?

The urge to leave was immediate and overwhelming. She started for the door.

Lucy noticed her first. “Esmeralda?” she called.

Fleming’s eyes snapped to her, his gaze fixed unblinking as Esmeralda’s retreat came to a halt.